


My Soul To Give

by cynatnite



Category: Starsky & Hutch, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:56:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynatnite/pseuds/cynatnite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch makes a deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Soul To Give

Desperation can make you believe almost anything no matter how outlandish it might be, but Hutch had seen a few things. Some strangeness was so surreal that he hadn’t allowed himself give any of it a second thought. Events were now forcing him to take another look at the outrageous and unbelievable.

“Desperation,” Hutch whispered. It hurt to say it and he closed his eyes for just a moment.

His partner, David Starsky, was barely hanging onto life. Death had made a run at Starsky, but he had somehow avoided it in this instance. After the cardiac arrest, Hutch turned to the observation window and gazed at Starsky. The doctor’s words were beginning to sink in. Coma, brain damage, maybe, if, and poor prognosis...he shook his head.

Hutch started to leave and Huggy grabbed onto his arm. “Hey, man. Where you goin’?”

“I gotta go.” Hutch pulled away and headed down the hallway. He was almost to the door when Huggy stepped in front of him.

“The look in your eyes says you’ll regret whatever’s in that head of yours.”

“No, I won’t.” Hutch pushed passed him.

It took half an hour to get to Joe Collandra’s restaurant. Once inside, he went passed the waitress to the kitchen. There was Joe. He hadn’t changed a bit. Messed hair, two days of beard growth, and a dirty apron. He looked like a janitor rather than the good cook he and Starsky knew him to be.

When Joe got a look at Hutch he shook his head and stepped back. “No, man! No way!”

Hutch moved closer. “I need your help.”

“The kind of help you want--there’s no coming back from, pal!”

“I don’t care.” Hutch kept going towards Joe. “Tell me.”

“You will care...when the time comes, you’ll fucking care.”

“Now is what matters.” Leaning in close, Hutch whispered, “Please, Joe. God, please.”

The pain in Joe’s head doubled. It was Hutch he was feeling. The psychic vibes were like knives stabbing into his brain. “You do this and you can’t come to me ever again. It’s over after this.”

“Yeah,” Hutch answered in a low voice. He followed Joe to the back of the kitchen. At the small desk he watched the psychic open the bottom drawer.

After a few minutes of searching, Joe pulled out a small business card and stared at it. “I saw you when this was handed to me. It was a few years back and it damn near knocked me on my ass. I was green back then and didn’t know what any of it meant at the time.” Joe held it out to Hutch. “Give him my name. He’ll tell you what to do.”

Hutch took the card. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Tear that thing up and run like hell in the other direction.”

“Maybe we’re both crazy, Joe, but I have to do this.”

It was getting late and Hutch didn’t have a lot of time. He got home and dialed the number. There was an answer after three rings.

“Yeah.” The voice was gruff and Hutch almost hung up.

“Uh...My name is Ken Hutchinson and...” He hated his damn stammering. “You see, my partner is in the hospital...”

“Just fucking tell me what you want!”

God, he needed a drink. “Joe Collandra gave me your card.”

There was silence on the other end and Hutch wondered if the man was still there. He heard him clear his throat.

“Yeah, okay. Do you have something to write with?”

Hutch grabbed the steno pad and a pencil. “Go ahead.”

“Do everything I tell you exactly to the letter. None of this improvising shit. It won’t get you the time of day.”

“I understand.”

The list was crazy and what he wanted Hutch to do with the items was even crazier. Desperation. Hutch almost said it aloud as he scribbled. Gone was the rationale, the logic, and unforgiving evidence a good cop needed to do the job. In their places was distress, foolishness, and grabbing at anything no matter how outlandish it might be.

When the call ended, Hutch sat and studied the list. What was more insane? Hutch thought. Following through with these instructions or going back to the hospital to watch Starsky die? Even if he had managed to survive, he would never be the man he was before the shooting.

“Fuck!” Hutch tossed the steno pad down and pushed up from the chair. He grabbed the bottle of scotch, opened it and drank straight from it. Hutch set it down and wiped the remnants off his mouth with the back of his hand.

With nothing left to lose, Hutch grabbed the steno pad and headed out the door. It took the better part of an hour to track down everything he needed. Night had fallen by the time he got to the desolate road. Little traffic ever came out here and Hutch figured if this whole thing was a scam, he wouldn’t look like a fool except to himself.

He took out his police ID and stuck it in the cigar box among the other items. Hutch kneeled down and closed the box. He set it inside the hole and pushed the dirt over it. Once at his feet, he looked around. There was nothing.

The road felt even more barren with a moonless night upon him and he sighed. “Fucking insane,” he muttered.

Hutch turned toward Dobey’s LTD and less than five feet away stood a man in a white suit. His black hair hung past his shoulders. The piercing black eyes seemed to tear into his soul.

The man’s smile was without feeling. “As I live and breathe. A righteous cop.”

“Who are you?” When his eyes turned blood red, Hutch’s heart almost stopped.

“You know who I am.” He angled a smile as he approached Hutch. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be out here.” He stopped right in front of him and leaned in just a bit. “Now, you’re ready to give up your most precious possession...the only thing you come into this world with and the only thing that goes with you when you leave.”

“Then you know what I want?”

“Cop, I can smell it on you.” He inhaled Hutch’s scent and sighed with pleasure. “David Michael Starsky...a good Jewish boy, who is a bit misguided, but has the most delectable ass.”

Hutch stilled. “I want him to be as he was before the shooting.”

He strolled around Hutch and stopped behind him. “Just so you can get at that ass,” he whispered in his ear.

“Can you do it?”

The laugh was low and dirty. “Oh, I can do it, alright.”

“That’s not what I...”

“I know what you meant,” he interrupted. He moved in front of Hutch. “You want a strong and healthy partner that can take that monster you’ve got in your pants.”

“In twenty years...”

“No, beautiful...not twenty years.” He reached over and ran his fingers through Hutch’s hair. “The standard is ten and as desperate as you are, I’d make it five, but I’m in a generous mood. It’ll be ten.”

Taking a step back, Hutch considered running to the car, but he was determined to see this through. Have to save Starsky, he swore to himself.

“Fine. I want Gunther out of the picture, too.”

“Baby blue, we already own Gunther. He’s got another six months before his term is up.” He strolled to Dobey’s car and leaned against it. “You get a good ten years with your lover boy and we get your soul. It’s an equitable arrangement. Take it or leave it.”

“Deal.” Hutch surprised himself at how quickly he said it.

“Time to seal it, baby.” He motioned for him.

Hutch went to him.


End file.
